A Fashion Felon in Rome (5 page)

“But maybe those theories were put out there on the internet by rival actresses who are bitter about losing roles to her over the years.  The internet is so anonymous.  You never know who you’re dealing with,” I suggested diplomatically, although Denise’s story wasn’t an outlandish one.  It was entirely possible that she could have pushed her young groom to his death and gotten away with it all these years.

“That’s true.  But Sophia has never remarried.  Married life obviously wasn’t for her.”

“Maybe she was too brokenhearted and traumatized from losing Aldo,” I pointed out.

“Maybe.  But maybe not,” Denise replied.  “Maybe she’s just a man-eater and uses men for her purposes.  And disposes of them when they no longer serve a purpose.”

“But she just met Tomaso.  Are you suggesting they had an affair and she got tired of him after less than a week?”

“I don’t know.  All I know is that her history has some stains in it.  And I don’t trust the woman,” Denise said definitively as Massimo stood as immobile as Michelangelo’s Statue of David, presumably absorbing every word of the conversation.

“To be honest, I thought maybe Sophia did it too.  But for other reasons.  I thought maybe it was some kind of extreme publicity stunt to thrust her into the spotlight,” I said, feeling guilty for concocting such a cruel hypothesis.

Denise’s eyes widened.  “Actually, that’s not so farfetched! Sophia is a complete narcissist.  And she’s getting older.  There won’t be as many parts for her in the future.  Maybe she’s getting desperate.”

“Maybe,” I agreed as Massimo finally turned around and inserted himself in our discussion.

“
Bella
,” he addressed me as my shoulders stiffened.  “Could I speak with you alone for a moment?”

“Of course,” I breezed.  “Excuse us, Denise.”

Taking my hand, he guided me out of the ballroom into a quiet hallway.  “Well, now I’m even more suspicious of Denise,” he said in a bass tone.

“Of Denise? Why?” I was completely perplexed.  If anything, Denise’s theorizing about Tomaso’s death had made me eliminate her as a suspect.

“Why?” He seemed surprised by my question.  “Because she’s trying to divert attention away from herself! By implicating Sophia, she’s making herself look innocent, don’t you see?”

“Well that’s some serious reverse psychology right there,” I replied, whirled back to my Psych 101 class in freshman year of college.

“It’s one of the tricks of the trade,” Massimo rejoined.  “But you’ve gained her trust, which is good.  Keep having those conversations with Denise whenever you can.  Sooner or later, she’ll slip up and say something incriminating if she is the murderer.”

“I don’t know about your tricks of the trade
,
boyfriend
,” I drawled sarcastically.  “But I do know about my gut feelings.  And my gut is telling me that Denise had nothing to do with Tomaso’s boat crash.”

“Gut feelings are useful too,” Massimo said thoughtfully.  “But my 12 years of experience as a private investigator are a royal flush.  Gut feelings are just a full house.”

“You’re really arrogant, you know that?” I puckered my lips, insulted by his poker metaphor.

“I’m just confident in what I do, that’s all.  Aren’t you confident in what you do?” He asked provokingly.

“I’m confident of my gut feelings,” I snapped.

“Oh there you are! Gianna, isn’t it? Why aren’t you inside designing my dress?” Sophia emerged from nowhere, floating over to me and offering an artificial air kiss on each cheek.

“I was just about to go back inside,” I answered as her gaze shifted to Massimo.

“You’re the investigator, yes?” She deduced.  “But you’re parading as Gianna’s boyfriend, I heard.”

“Exactly.  I’m Massimo.  Just play your role to perfection as you always do, Sophia, and no one will be the wiser.” The flattery dripped from his smug lips as I rolled my eyes heavenward.  What a maddening man!  And what a dumb decision to clue Sophia in on the plot.  Did she have an alibi too? If not, then Massimo and the police were overlooking a potential suspect.  Royal flush, my nose! My gut feelings had never led me astray, and I knew in my heart that Denise was innocent.  I could not, however, say the same about Sophia.

We returned to the ballroom as Leonard waved to Sophia and then huddled in the corner with her in a private pow wow.  As I was picking up a yardstick to measure fabric, a stinging alarm infiltrated the room.  Lights flashed dizzyingly as alarms blared from every corner of the hotel.

“Oh damn it! What now? A fire? Just my luck!” Sophia cried out, again shocking me with her endless self-centeredness.  Oh yes, the building is on fire? Poor you!

Massimo grabbed me around the waist as I tried to jerk out of his grasp. But he held me powerfully against him, leading me towards an emergency exit as chaos erupted all around us.  Hotel guests poured down the hallways, pushing each other to
clamor out of the building.  Faintly, the stench of smoke wafted through the stale air of the hotel, indicating that this was no false alarm.  Evelyn’s elbow jabbed me in the eye as I yelped in pain.

“Sorry!” She muttered, pushing her way in front of me.

Leonard followed directly behind her, also rudely cutting in front of me.  I guess Sophia wasn’t the only self-important moron.  In a life-or-death situation, people could turn ugly very quickly.

“The fire’s spreading!” Someone shouted from behind.

“Oh, I hope my fabrics don’t get burned!” Sophia yelled vapidly as I was tempted to clunk her on her hollow head.

Finally, we reached the exit, but people were still pushing and shoving their way in front.  Smoke billowed closer, the smell becoming overpowering and making my eyes water.  Massimo wrenched me in front of him and pushed me forcefully out the door as we simultaneously choked on a whiff of smoke.  Outside, it was a perfect Mediterranean day with a fresh blue sky complementing the sweet, dry air.

“We got out just in time!” Massimo gasped, clutching his chest.  “I just hope everyone else can get out!”

“So do I,” I said, afraid to look back at the hotel.

Massimo took hold of my hand again, running with me towards the safety of the parking lot.  The first fire truck raced onto the scene as masses of people struggled to breathe.  I was pretty sure that some of the ones still unfortunately in the building would need oxygen masks.  Squeezing my eyes shut, I hoped and prayed that no one would be seriously injured.  I didn’t need to open my eyes to know that the inferno was spreading rapidly.  Even from the cool concrete of the parking lot, I could feel the heat from the fire.

Sophia crouched next to Leonard and Evelyn, the trio coughing loud
ly.  I looked around for Denise but didn’t see her anywhere.  But in the pandemonium, I knew it could be easy to overlook someone.  Hopefully, she had made it out of the building safely and was trying to catch her breath like the rest of us.

“Why are these things happening to me?” Sophia ranted.  “It’s like I’m cursed!  Ever since Aldo died…”

Massimo and I exchanged a curious look.  If Denise hadn’t told me that story, I would have had no idea what Sophia was talking about.  But what did she mean? Was she cursed because she had lost her husband in a tragic accident? Or cursed because she had staged his murder to look like an accident and never been brought to justice?

“Relax, Sophia,” Leonard coddled.  “Everything will be okay.”

“No, it won’t! At every turn, my plans keep getting ruined! You better get my agent on the phone this afternoon and see what roles he can dig up for me.  I’m not going to the Cannes Film Festival without my next movie lined up!” Her infantile tantrum raged on with the fire.

At that point, I didn’t even want to design a dress for the shrew.  I didn’t want to do anything except go home to Richard’s comforting arms and forget about this whole nightmare. 
As I choked on a lingering wave of smoke, I vowed to do exactly that.  Massimo and the police could solve the crime without me.  I was going home sweet home to New York where I belonged.

Chapter 6

An hour later, firefighters confirmed that everyone had been evacuated from the hotel.
The blaze appeared to have ignited in the hotel’s 5-star Mediterranean restaurant.  No one had been injured, except for two of the chefs who suffered minor burns to their hands while trying unsuccessfully to extinguish the fire with dish towels.  Sitting beside Massimo in his car with the windows rolled down, I prepared to inform him of my plan to leave Italy.

I felt like a coward and a quitter as I opened my mouth to speak the words.  “Massimo,” I began.  “I don’t think I can…”

His cell phone beeped urgently, preventing me from uttering the words.  He glanced at the screen and sighed heavily.  “I just got a text saying that Tomaso’s parents have arrived at the airport.” He hung his head despairingly.

“And you have to meet with them?” I guessed softly.

“Of course.  This is the part of my job that I hate.  It’s so hard to deal with a grieving family.  And Tomaso was an only child, so I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.”

“He was an only child?” I repeated as a stab of compassion traveled to my heart.

“Yes.  25 years old.  Gone in an instant.  It’s hard to even comprehend.” Massimo looked away from me as I wondered if he had tears in his eyes.  His voice had turned gravelly and overwrought with emotion.

Now it was my turn to look away from Massimo.  The sight of a man crying for someone other than himself had been rare in my experience.  I didn’t want to soften to him and rearrange my plans of going back to New York.  Staying in Italy as a homicide
hunter was simply too stressful, and I didn’t want to be away from Richard any longer.

“I understand,” I soothed, looking out the window, feeling a welcome breeze tickle my hairline.

Grim faced, Massimo turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the parking lot.  “Where are you going?” I demanded.

“To the airport,” he replied somberly.

“Not with me you’re not! Let me out of the car!” I jiggled the door handle as he placed a powerful hand over my wrist.

“Are you crazy? Trying to jump out of a moving car? Why are you so upset anyway? You agreed to help, and a big part of helping is meeting the victim’s parents.” Massimo slowly removed his hand from my wrist as I went slack in his grip.

“I know I agreed to help, but it wasn’t like I had much choice.  I feel like I was coerced.  Or recruited.  Honestly, I’m in over my head with this investigation.  And I don’t see how I can help…”

“You already
have
helped.  That conversation you had with Denise was very eye opening.  Next time you need to try to get closer to Evelyn too.”

“No! No next time! I’m going back to New York.  Actually, you might as well drop me off at the airport since that’s where I’m going anyway,” I
said, even though my passport was locked in a safe in my hotel room.  There was no way I would be allowed to cross the ocean again without that vital little booklet.

“Calm down, Gianna.  I know you didn’t come to Italy to be a homicide investigator.  But this is the situation.  And you have it in your power to help a grieving family get justice.  Do you believe in destiny?” He gave me a peculiar look that revealed his own passionate feelings about the subject.

“Yes, I do actually.  I do believe in destiny,” I replied sincerely as the aroma of cigar smoke suddenly drifted through my senses.  An image of my father, with his raven moustache and twinkling gray eyes, floated inexplicably into my mind.  I didn’t understand what the image meant as my father would surely have supported my decision to go home.  He never would have wanted his only daughter to become entrenched in such a perilous endeavor.  So why did I suddenly feel his presence?

“Well, then believe that it’s your destiny to solve this crime,” Massimo urged, sliding onto the highway as he switched a blinker on.

“I’ll go with you to meet Tomaso’s parents,” I submitted.  “But I can’t promise you anything beyond that.”

“Fine, let’s just see how things go,” Massimo replied with mock casualness.  It was obvious that he would do anything
to keep me as his partner.

Fifteen minutes passed without another word exchanged between Massimo and me.  He
sang along to an Eros Ramazotti pop tune on the radio and tapped his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel.  I tried not to fixate on those thick, capable fingers.  I tried to pretend I was in the car with my older brother, Donatello, but I couldn’t control the sizzles of energy that kept drifting between us. 

Arriving at the airport, Massimo parked the car in a top floor garage, fielding another text message as he twisted the key out of the ignition.  “Tomaso’s parents are at baggage claim.  They’re waiting for us.”

“Us?” I parroted.

“Yes, they know that one of their son’s colleagues has been hired to help with the investigation.”

Hired? I wanted to parrot that word too, but I knew it would be crass.  I wasn’t going to receive any monetary compensation for my work in the investigation, so technically I couldn’t have been “hired.” More like dragged kicking and screaming.  And, most recently, manipulated into participating with Massimo’s sappy suggestion that I had come face to face with some irrepressible force of destiny.